Tea, Molly?
by TimeLord98
Summary: Molly noticed the change in Sherlock's behaviour far too late. She had dismissed it as him trying to be nice. She had hoped that he was simply learning how to interact with people without insulting them every five seconds. She had never been more wrong. (Rated T for intense kissing, violence and minor language)
1. Chapter 1

Molly noticed the change in Sherlock's behaviour far too late. She had dismissed it as him trying to be nice. She had hoped that he was simply learning how to interact with people without insulting them every five seconds.

She had never been more wrong.

The pathologist now found herself lying on the floor of 221B, her nose bleeding profusely. She struggled to sit up, glaring at the man looming above her, his eyes mocking her.

"Oh dear, is poor little Molly in pain?" he taunted, "I wonder what Sherlock would say?"

Molly stood up at the mention of the name, a new fire in her eyes. The man quirked an eyebrow at her sudden movement.

"Piss off," Molly spat.

"Ooh, no need to get nasty dearie. I only want to play," the man said, moving forward and grabbing Molly's chin violently, "And you two are ever so fun to play with."

Molly stared at the man defiantly, fighting the urge to smack him. She knew it would do no good to do so, and it would probably just make her situation worse, but she wanted to. She wanted to slap him so hard, it would leave a physical mark on his cheek.

"What do you want, anyways?" Molly asked, disdain laced in her voice, "Why do you insist on torturing us?"

"For fun! You see, Sherlock's mind is so beautiful. There aren't many people who have such mental prowess. It's quite sad really. You're no fun anymore. But Sherlock, oh Sherlock. He fights. He fights hard. And it makes him all the more fun to break," the man explained, smirking, blood starting to drip from his eyes as he fondled Molly's face, brushing his thumb over the large bruise on her forehead.

"Just stop it!" she cried, wrenching away from his grip, "You're killing him!"

The man laughed, casually, yet forcefully, moving closer to Molly, successfully backing her against the wall. The pathologist squirmed a little as she looked into the man's eyes. The man laughed again.

"Oh would this help?" he asked, and as he blinked, his black eyes turned back to the icy blue ones that Molly knew so well. Yet, it wasn't the same. The look in them was like nothing that she was used to seeing in the consulting detective. Molly tried to look brave, for Sherlock, in case he could see.

"Not likely," she said, her voice a lot steadier than she felt, "It doesn't change the fact that you're killing him. Not very clever of you though. If you kill him you got nowhere to go"

"Please, I could stay as long as I like. Any damage I do is purely for your benefit."

Molly glared at the-man-that-was-Sherlock-but-not. She desperately tried to think of a means of escape, but there were none. Suddenly, Sherlock was extremely close to her. Far closer than necessary, and it made Molly very uncomfortable.

"He calls for you in here. Pleading with me not to hurt you. It's funny actually, watching him claw at the walls of his own mind at the sight of his own hand drawing your blood," he said, and Molly gasped as a new gash formed on her cheek. Sherlock leaned in and whispered in her ear, "It's pathetic really. He's practically begging me to let you go."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't beg."

"You're right, he doesn't. He _screams_."


	2. Chapter 2

Black. Total and utter darkness. Pain. Excruciating, agonizing pain. That was his world now. The great Sherlock Holmes. Trapped in his own mind. He laughed at the irony. The demon had been whispering to him for a while before actually possessing him. Taunting him. Piquing his curiosity. And like an idiot, he had let down his defences, giving the demon a way in. Sherlock wasn't sure how long it had been now. A week? Hell, it felt like a century. Powerless to control anything his body said or did. It would have been bearable, had he been unconscious and unaware of what he was doing. But the demon had let him see. It had forced him to watch the horrors his own hands were inflicting upon Molly. _His Molly__._ If Sherlock could throw up, he would. He pleaded with the demon. Anything but her. She was the sole person Sherlock had been able to trust completely and without fear during his fall. She never judged him and she always seemed to be able to make him feel better about himself. She didn't deserve to be suffering the consequences of his stupidity.

He pushed and bashed against the consciousness that was repressing and slowly killing him, desperately trying to gain some control of his faculties again. He needed to get away from Molly. He needed to keep her safe. A powerful force pushed him back, pinning him and piercing his cognizance with daggers.

He screamed.

Sherlock fought even harder, but predictably, it did nothing. He was helpless to do anything but watch as the demon told Molly lies that were laced with semblance of truth. Helpless to stop himself from touching her, taunting her, toying with her emotions. He wanted nothing more than to be able to lock himself up, far away from everyone. Nothing more than to keep Molly safe.

He watched in horror as his hands played with a short dagger, as they ghosted across Molly's pale skin. A fire lit up inside him as her blood was drawn. He couldn't bear to watch this any longer without doing anything to stop it. Suddenly, he lifted the restraints he had taken such care to put around his emotions, letting the rage and passion build inside him until he could stand it no more.

He screamed.

The consulting detective attacked his mental prison with everything he had and more, only one thought in his mind: _Protect Molly_. All of a sudden, the barrier shattered and Sherlock managed to gain control of his body. He looked at Molly and was crushed to see the sheer terror in her innocent features.

"Brace yourself."

It was all he said. It was all he _could_ say before having to focus all his attention and energy on cutting a protective sigil onto Molly. He had barely finished before the demon wrested back control, snarling in an inhuman manner.

_Naughty, naughty Sherlock,_ he sneered._ Just for that little stunt, I'm going to do exactly what you've been begging me not to._


	3. Chapter 3

Molly dared not move. She could sense the demon's fury and decided that she'd rather not direct it on herself. Sherlock clenched and unclenched his fists twice before turning back to her.

"Seems like our little detective has made things a bit more complicated," the demon inside Sherlock said through gritted teeth, "I can't physically hurt you now, thanks to that little _gift_ he gave you."

He paused for a moment, and his mouth suddenly curled upwards in a smirk that terrified Molly. She wanted to run, but she knew it would be useless to try.

"Of course," the demon said, advancing towards Molly, "I can still touch you."

He trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek, cocking his head to the side contemplatively, much like Sherlock.

"I can see why Sherlock harbours such sentiment for you. You really are quite a lovely girl," he mused.

"If you're going to flirt with me, you might as well tell me your name," Molly said flatly, "Common courtesy." The demon quirked an eyebrow.

"If you must know, I am known as Belial. I rather like your detective's name though. I might keep it."

"It's not yours to keep."

"Of course it is. Sherlock belongs to me now. And by default, what's his, is mine."

"Rubbish. He doesn't belong to you. It's probably taking up most of your energy just trying to keep him at bay."

"Hardly. All I have to do is hurt him and he shuts up for a while. See?"

Belial coughed and Molly was horrified to see blood begin to trickle from his mouth and eyes at an alarming rate, dripping onto his shirt, crimson clashing against white. He laughed, teeth matching his shirt. Molly locked eyes with Belial. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset, or afraid. She was strong, and she would remain that way for Sherlock's sake. Her walls had been put up, her heart encased in iron. It would take nothing less than a bomb to break her resolve.

"He doesn't want me to tell you, but I don't give a damn about what he wants. Well…except for one thing," Belial said, trailing off.

"Oh? And what might that be?" Molly asked, folding her arms across her chest and raising her eyebrows. Belial grinned.

"He wants you," he managed to say before he suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

_And there's the C4_. Molly thought briefly before rushing to his side.

"Sherlock?" she said nervously, shaking his unmoving body, "Sherlock!"

The detective's eyes shot open, piercing Molly with their icy gaze.

"Molly!" he cried, sitting up and grabbing her shoulders, his grip far tighter than was probably necessary, "Did he say it?"

His eyes searched Molly's face desperately, finding nothing in her features to console him. He let go of Molly and turned away, burying his face in his hands. Molly tentatively placed her hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said softly, "I know he was lying."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock looked at Molly with an expression filled with hurt and disbelief.

"That's not…I don't…oh Molly," he said, running his hands through his hair, "He wasn't lying."

This time it was Molly's turn to stammer and stare at him in incredulity.

"I…you…w-what?"

Sherlock stared at the carpet, cheeks turning red.

"I-I know I've said in the past that caring is weakness, but you've proved me otherwise. You've always been there for me, even though I can be—as John so often says—an annoying dick. I don't deserve to be treated so well, especially by you, and yet you're still so kind. You're very special to me, Molly Hooper, and the last thing I want to see is you getting hurt. So yes. What Belial said, about me wanting you? It's true. I do, and I don't deserve you for one second."

He was looking at her at this point, his ice-blue eyes glinting with uncertainty and vulnerability. Molly was biting her lip; she could feel her cheeks growing hot. Sitting in front of her was the great Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, and he was awkwardly confessing his feelings like he was seventeen years old. So she did exactly what any seventeen-year-old girl would do to get the rambling boy to shut up. She grabbed his blood-stained shirt and pulled him into a kiss. Sherlock froze, then responded with a ferocity that surprised Molly. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, his hands strong and insistent as they pressed against her back. His lips tasted of blood, and yet, Molly couldn't care less as she threw herself into the inferno that was Sherlock Holmes. Never had she imagined that he actually cared for her in this way, that he saw her as anything other than a trusted colleague. Sure, she had fantasized about his clear blue eyes and gorgeous curls many times. She had gazed at him from afar as he worked on his cases, but she had never dared to hope that her feelings toward this beautiful, mysterious, intelligent man would ever be requited. And yet, here he was, his lips moving over hers, passionately, possessively. Molly broke away, pressing her forehead against Sherlock's, both of them breathing heavily. Suddenly, Sherlock spoke.

"Molly."

His eyes were closed, his lips parted ever so slightly.

"What?"

He smirked and opened his eyes. They were pitch black.

"You're an idiot."


	5. Chapter 5

Molly scrambled back, tears streaming down her face, cursing herself for letting her emotions cloud her judgement. She looked around for something, anything that might help her. Belial's laughter was cold and biting. He advanced towards her slowly, soaking in her fear and emotional turmoil. It took a significant amount of Molly's willpower to stay calm enough for her brain to work. She had probably scanned the room twice before spotting a rather large can filled with salt lying next to one of Sherlock's experiments. Recalling something that a rather good-looking American man told her recently, she looked back at Belial, a plan forming in her head.

"And what was the point of that little stunt, might I ask?" Molly said, attempting to distract the demon.

"Punishment for Sherlock's daring act of heroism," Belial replied nonchalantly, "You should have heard his protests."

Molly slowly inched towards the salt.

"Punishment for _Sherlock_? That's a load of crap. He couldn't care less about romance or sentiment. He's very vocal about that."

"You're forgetting that I'm inside that little mind of his. I can see every opinion, every memory, every emotion that he hides from everyone. Even himself."

Belial paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly, and grinned.

"He's got a whole section in here just for you. There's all sort of little details that he's catalogued. How you like your coffee, your sweet little smile, the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, that red is your favourite colour but green accents your skin and eyes perfectly. Seems like his mind palace has a princess."

"Why should I believe a word of what you're saying?"

Behind her back, Molly's hand wrapped around the can of salt as Belial leaned in close.

"What would I gain from lying to you about this? If your affections were unrequited, then there would be no point exploiting them. Sherlock would not suffer. You see, that's why I haven't killed you yet. You're the best leverage against Sherlock there is."

"You keep forgetting something."

Belial stepped back, eying the little pathologist suspiciously.

"What are you talking about?"

Molly moved toward the demon, her courage growing with every step.

"Because I'm socially awkward, you and Sherlock forget that though I'm nowhere near as clever as Sherlock, I'm not of common intelligence. There's a reason I'm in charge of St. Bart's morgue, and you would do well to remember that."

She tossed some of the salt in Belial's face and the demon recoiled and screamed in pain. Molly took the chance and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and locked herself in John's room. She quickly lined the doorway with salt and just to be safe, made a ring and sat inside it. She could hear Belial cursing outside the door. She hugged her knees to her chest, her mind racing as she desperately tried to think of a way to help Sherlock and herself out of this mess. A sigh escaped her lips as she thought about how this whole catastrophe had started.


End file.
